


My Boys

by Shea67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Parental Bobby Singer, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 20:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13865181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shea67/pseuds/Shea67
Summary: Once again, Sam and Dean are left at Bobby's. John is off hunting again, and no one knows when or if he'll come back. It seems like the boys have a shot at a normal life, but the brothers can't escape the chaos that John brings.This is a short I wrote for the Seasons campaign. It was awesome to see my work printed in a book! Woo!





	My Boys

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this was edited by my wonderful best friend Katie (aka beecause here on AO3 and dean-why on Tumblr). This genuinely wouldn't have happened without her help and support. Thank you so much for your help!

Apparently, the vampire nest in Omaha must have been incredibly pressing. So pressing, in fact, that John couldn’t waste even two minutes to call Bobby. He left Sam and Dean with just the clothes on their too-boney backs and a candy bar between them. They were underfed, under-dressed, and huddled together on Bobby’s porch when he got home late that night. He gave each of them a fleece blanket to warm up and made instant stuffing and leftover mashed potatoes in the microwave. While it wasn’t exactly much, both scarfed it down. It was a warm meal and they would be crazy to decline it. After dinner, Sam thanked Bobby profusely while Dean said nothing, though he was just as grateful for Bobby’s hospitality. As usual, Bobby had them shower and sleep in the guest bedroom- _their_ room, he said. He thought at the very least they deserved to feel like they always had a home to come back to, something John could never provide.

The two weeks the boys spent with Bobby brought him joy and made his heart ache. While John was off hunting, fueled by vengeance for Mary’s untimely death, Bobby was there for the two boys that John had left behind. Most days, Bobby would keep Sam company, as he often was lonely. He wasn't the most interesting person in the world, but he still tried to be entertaining to the eight-year-old. In the beginning, Sam would stay with him while Dean would wander off on his own. He wasn't very talkative to begin with, but as the days went by, he began to open up. He willingly spent time by Bobby's side and asked a million questions, which Bobby would try to answer to the best of his ability. It felt like they were becoming a somewhat-normal family. Most nights, Bobby would make dinners for them in the evenings and tell them stories about his life before hunting, the boys eating their fill. 

This was one such evening.

Dean scarfed down his meal, whereas Sam was very neat and tucked his napkin into his lap like Bobby taught him to. A wispy cloud of steam rose from their hot meal of green beans, mashed potatoes, and steak. It wasn't often that Bobby made such an extravagant dinner, but he wanted to treat them to something other than Kraft macaroni and cheese. 

“Eat up,” the hunter said unnecessarily, cutting his steak into bite-sized pieces. Sam followed Bobby’s lead, but Dean didn’t waste time cutting his. Instead, he stabbed his whole steak with a fork and took generous bites out of it. Bobby watched them both in amusement and raised a brow. The two of them were so different, it was almost comical. 

“I was thinking Sammy should start going to school again,” Dean said around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. He watched as his little brother’s eyes lit up and Sam turned to look at Bobby and silently plead with those puppy dog eyes of his. 

Bobby took off his old hat and sighed, running a hand over his brow. In no way did he want to disappoint them, but school was out of the question. There was the issue of money, but mostly the problem of consistency in attendance. It simply couldn't happen, unless Sam permanently lived with Bobby and Dean continued to go on hunting trips with John. However, getting John agree with that was just another issue. “Maybe.” Bobby said eventually. 

Dean grinned and continued to eat his mashed potatoes, but Sam became too excited to eat. The elder brother could never understand why Sam was so enthusiastic about school. Dean preferred making faces at the pretty girls he passed in the hallways, not the lame textbooks he had to read through, or the constant criticism he received from his previous teachers. The rest of the meal went on with idle chat made between everyone, but Dean seemed uninterested. 

***

Even though Bobby knew the day would come, he prayed that John wouldn't come home this time. Maybe he would wrap that damn car around a pole, or just not _feel_ like coming back for his boys. Dread felt like a rock in the pit of his stomach as he heard the Impala’s signature purr from down the street. The rumbling only grew louder as the car pulled into his driveway. As soon as the drivers’ side door squeaked open and John’s unsteady foot touched down on the cracked pavement, things went south. He was drunk, bleeding through his shirt, and had a nasty cut on the side of his face. A few purple bruises littered his skin and his eyes held pain and exhaustion- though the alcohol in his system seemed to numb most of it. 

He approached the house and didn't bother knocking, choosing instead to walk right inside. John dropped his beer bottle on the old wooden floors and it shattered, pieces everywhere in front of him. He cursed wildly, threw a nearby coat over the mess to “clean it,” and went in search of more to drink, knowing that Bobby had a stash _somewhere_. 

Bobby got up from his ratty old chair and went to intervene. John must've known that he was being loud enough to wake up an entire neighborhood. But despite his qualms about John’s behavior, he still chose to stitch and bandage his wounds. The noise John made caused the two boys to stir upstairs. So while John nursed a cup of bourbon, two pairs of feet came running with the excitement of seeing their father once more. Even though John continued to abandon them, he always came back, which gave the boys false hope of something, _anything_ more than the shitty life and little affection John provided. 

Dean began to berate his father with questions about the hunt as soon as he took a seat in Bobby’s recliner. _Dad, how did that happen? Did you kill ‘em all?_ Bobby felt disgusted that Dean was so used to asking such morbid questions. Sam, on the other hand, had very little interest in the hunt and instead wanted to show off the little projects that Bobby not only _let_ , but _encouraged_ him to do. 

“Dad, look at what I drew!” Sam declared proudly, holding up a sheet of paper with crayon scribbled all over it. It was nearly indecipherable what was on the page, but the child was proud of his work nonetheless. SAM was scrawled in messy, wobbly letters, and written in a red crayon, his favorite color. “Uncle Bobby said that he’s gonna put it on the fridge!” He was just so eager to please that he didn’t notice or care that John appeared to be upset. He even ignored his father’s first mumbled dismissal. 

“I said shut your _goddamn_ mouth, Samuel.” John barked. He didn't look proud of Sam’s little drawing at all. Dean was about to speak up, wanting to protect his little brother from his father's harsh tone, but he knew better than to talk back to their father. He knew the consequences. John continued, “Just show me tomorrow. I’m too tired for this shit.”

Sam’s joyous expression faded into one of misery. The boy nodded solemnly and walked off, his shoulders slumped and his floppy hair falling into his eyes, drawing crumpling in his fist. Bobby went after Sam, of course. No child deserved to be spoken to like that. John wasn’t the worst parent Bobby had encountered, his own father definitely won that title, but John certainly wasn’t the best father, either. He was too blinded by the loss of Mary to recognize how terrible he was to their sons. 

On the floor of the living room, right on top of the shattered mess of John’s beer bottle, Bobby found the torn and rumpled fragments of Sam’s drawing. Sam himself was nowhere to be seen. Little splotches of blood littered the floor, signaling that Sam had cut his foot on one of the many shards lying around. If only they were his boys, maybe things would be a lot different.


End file.
